


5 times Newt had to patch himself up, and 1 time there were humans to help him

by Angelfabeth



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Animal Trafficking, Autistic Newt Scamander, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Corporal Punishment, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelfabeth/pseuds/Angelfabeth
Summary: As someone in Newt's profession, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much.
 
(Written for this kinkmeme prompt: I imagine that, Newt's awkwardness aside, his profession is such that he must be able to take care of himself if he is hurt, without relying on anyone else.
So, how about five times when he was injured and had to patch himself up, and then one time when there was someone there to help him or do it for him?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt can be found here: http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/459.html?thread=735179#cmt735179
> 
> Warnings: corporal punishment, a little bit of torture, animal trafficking, animal cruelty, minor character death

1.

_Crack_

Newt tried to stifle his whimpers as the ruler came down to raise another red welt on his palms.

_Crack_

“Try again, Mr Scamander.”

Everything was hot and blurry and the room seemed to spin, his stomach churning. The fiery pain in his hands sent sharp prickles up his arms and sides. Newt tried to drag his gaze up but only reached his teacher’s chin before dropping back to the floor in shame, his russet hair falling forward and hiding him from his teacher’s condemning scrutiny. He shook his head desperately, trying to convey his struggle without words. Newt felt overwhelmingly magnified under her disdainful inspection, his skin hot and clammy under his clothes. His shoulders hunched over and he willed himself to disappear like his parents whenever they disapparated. 

_Crack_

The next sharp thwack came between his shoulder blades and Newt gave a strangled yelp, even as he forced his spine back upright. His teacher tutted disapprovingly, regarding the young boy before her.

“Honestly, Mr Scamander.” Her voice cracked like whip and Newt flinched. “Stand up straight and look people in the eye when they are talking to you.” The boy flicked teary eyes to his teacher’s for the briefest moment before returning to his scuffed shoes. He heard his teacher sigh and return the ruler to her drawer. “What am I going to do with you, Mr Scamander?” Newt ducked his head, his ears turning red. This wasn’t the first time he had been asked this question with no answer, and Newt longingly thought of his mother’s hippogriffs and their own straightforward way of communication. They never needed him to speak clearly or stand up straight. With his creatures, he wasn’t broken like he was with people. He could look them in the eyes and he could always tell when they wanted something. They weren’t like humans who did one thing but meant another.

His teacher regarded him for a moment before dismissing him for the day. Newt stumbled out of the classroom, the tears he had held back for so long spilling hotly onto his cheeks. He ran home and into his mother’s room where Theseus would have stroked his hair and carefully rubbed Gashwern’s Cooling Cream onto his reddened palms. Newt’s sobbing increased in intensity as a new wave of loneliness crashed into him, leaving him gasping and floundering, alone in a house without his brother who had left for Hogwarts and wrote back to tell him about the wonders of the castle that had stolen him away.

Newt scrubbed at his eyes and fumbled with the lid of his mother’s cream and clumsily applied it to his injured hands.

If he was broken, then it made sense that he would have to try and fix himself.

 

 

2.

“There, there,” Newt crooned softly, his attention never wavering from the orange ball of fur half-hidden behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. The little Kneazle had almost been vibrating with tension when he had first found her, but now was merely eyeing him distrustfully with a paw held gingerly to her chest and letting out the occasional warning hiss whenever he moved to quickly. 

“There we go.” Newt murmured, extending a hand unthreateningly. “Now why don’t you let me take a look at that paw of yours? I promise it’ll feel better afterwards.” Eventually after ten more minutes of coaxing, the Kneazle allowed herself to be cradled against Newt’s chest and examined with a gentle touch.

“Don’t worry,” Newt said as he tended to the sprained paw. “This should be all better in a few days-” 

“YOU! You’re the one who stole my cat!” Newt jumped at the unexpected voice and the Kneazle in his arms lashed out, raking her claws along his chest and tearing down the fifth floor corridor. The sudden flash of pain was quickly drowned with worry at the thought of the strain the action would have put on her injury, but he was quickly distracted by a hand on his shoulder yanking him around. 

Newt came face to face with a livid fourth year Gryffindor whose face was flushed the same crimson as her tie.

“I can’t believe you stole my cat and then let it get away!” Her voice was shrill and Newt had to disguise a wince.

“I- I didn’t… I was just-”

“Oh, forget it.” She pushed the second year student aside and stormed off with a flick of her hair in pursuit of the Kneazle. Newt stumbled into the stone wall and slid to the floor, slightly dazed. Shaking his head, he pushed himself upright and the fresh cuts on his chest flared up with pain. Newt sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth before making his way back to the Hufflepuff dorms.

Behind the privacy of his bed curtains, Newt slowly peeled off his ruined shirt and examined the new cuts, silently marvelling at the length and sharpness of the Kneazle’s claws. His hands went through the familiar motions of making a healing poultice, his wand clenched between his teeth, and he wondered where the Kneazle might have escaped. Outside, most definitely, and probably somewhere where she could easily hide from her shrieking owner.

Newt quickly applied the poultice and shrugged on his robes, before making his way toward the Forbidden Forest. Best to start there.

 

 

 

3.

“They- they’re not ready!” Newt protested trying to keep up with the reserve director’s long strides. “They still don’t quite trust us enough and they’re liable to lash out if they’re not used to the conditions-”

“They seem to trust you enough.” Shevchenko replied brusquely. “Yesterday you had them eating out of your hand.”

“Well, ye- I mean, sort of, not literally- I suppose… But still-” Shevchenko stopped and turned to face the stammering wizard. 

“Look, Scamander,” His craggy face seemed to soften slightly, but his eyes remained as piercing as ever. “You’re my best dragon trainer. Normally I would listen to what you have to say, but we are losing the war, losing good wizards out there every day. Your brother is out there on the front lines. Don’t you want to see him home safe?”

“Y-yes of course, but-”

“No more on this topic, Scamander.” Shevchenko said with a tone of finality that brooked no argument. “We need those dragons. We ride out tomorrow.” 

Newt couldn’t help but feel, with a sinking heart, that this was a bad idea.

The next day, Newt knew for certain that this was a bad idea.

“No! No, don’t hurt her!” He shouted, trying to be heard over the combined clamour of wizards shouting, spells being fired, and the distressed roar of a young dragon. Ana had already been unsettled at the loud noises and bright lights, but when her handler had taken her into too sharp and too sudden a turn, it had sent her into a panic.

She had thrown her equally as terrified rider off her back and begun to rampage, crushing both enemy and allied forces, long forks of flame warning off any who might approach. Her rider had been saved by a timely cushioning charm, but calming a distraught dragon was not quite that easy.

Newt ran towards the dragon and cupped his hands to his mouth, letting out a loud roar and dodging enemy fire. Unfortunately, this meant that he wasn’t concentrating on dodging dragon fire. Newt dove out of the way, but the jet of flames caught his right leg. He let out a strangled yell and quickly doused his leg with cold water. He limped behind the shelter of a large boulder before repeating the roar, this time followed by three chirps.

Ana’s roars died away to low growls, but her tail continued to anxiously lash from side to side.

“There we go, Ana.” Newt said, cautiously making his way toward the jittery dragon. “I’m so sorry, I forgot you liked the chirping.” A particularly loud explosion startled both of them and the dragon recoiled, heat building in her throat. 

“Hey, Ana, come on,” Newt interrupted, bringing her attention back to him. “Just look at me.” He held the red gaze for a moment, before carefully and purposefully blinking twice. Ana stared at him for several moments longer, before repeating the gesture. Newt’s face broke into a relieved smile and reached out to stroke her snout.

“Scamander! Get that dragon over here! We need help!” Shevchenko’s bellow rose above the din. Newt’s face fell but he continued to pat Ana’s head while scratching a particularly sensitive spot under her neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt whispered in her ear, his voice choked. “I’m going to have to ask you to go back out there.” Ana whined and nudged Newt with her nose. “I know, and I’m really very sorry, but I have no choice. We’re losing out there. Please, Ana, just for a little while.” Her ears twitched nervously but eventually she lowered herself to the ground for him to mount. Newt felt no relief or satisfaction. He took a fortifying breath before swinging his left leg over and ignoring his right shrieking in pain. “Just a little longer and then we can go home.” 

Later, after settling the dragons back in their enclosure and giving them a good feed, Newt staggered back to his little hut in the reserve, avoiding his bruised and battered colleagues who were tending to their wounded and celebrating their victory. Burning pain raked up and down his leg and he collapsed against his workbench, hastily reaching for his rapidly emptying jar of burn salve. Newt bit his lip as he methodically slathered his trembling leg with the thick orange paste. With a muttered _ferula_ , bandages flew out of the tip of his wand and wrapped his leg.

Newt let out a relieved breath and wobbled to his bed, immediately sinking down onto it. He ignored the pang of longing for his brother to tuck him in and stroke his hair like he did when they were younger, and allowed himself to fall into a restless sleep.

 

 

4.

“ _Crucio_!”

Newt tried to muffle his screams as he writhed on the damp cobblestones of London’s criminal underground. He gasped for air when the curse was lifted, his body involuntarily twitching from the aftershocks.

“Where is it?” A voice demanded roughly. Newt blinked sluggishly and struggled to formulate a response.

“Wh-what?” He managed to croak, his throat hoarse from screaming.

“The Niffler! Where did you hide the Niffler?” This was accompanied by a sharp kick to the stomach. Newt curled up, trying to protect himself from any more blows.

“I- I don’t understand!” Newt whimpered. “A wh-what? What’s a Niffler?” He flinched as the man raised his wand again, but another interrupted him.

“Oh, come on, forget this idiot. He doesn’t know anything.” The second man said turning away.

“He was the only one nearby when the little shit disappeared.” The first man hissed. 

“Just look at him! He obviously has no clue what’s going on. The thing probably just escaped like last time. If we leave now we might be able to catch it before it gets too far.”

The first man grumbled, obviously reluctant, but eventually conceded, kicking Newt one last time before leaving.

Newt remained snivelling on the ground. Once the sound of their footsteps had receded, he wiped his face and uncurled from his ball. He got to his feet and hurriedly pried his case from its haphazard hiding place behind a few bins. With a satisfied smile, he drew out his wand and disapparated away.

He reappeared in a dingy little bedsit and gently placed his case on the floor. He quickly opened it and climbed down the stairs, but halfway down, his leg twitched violently and gave way from under him. Newt flailed and crashed to the floor with a groan. He was quite willing to lie there until his body stopped throbbing but a snout in his ear distracted him from his pain. Turning his head, he looked at the Niffler he had rescued with a worried eye. The small creature was a bit worse for wear but he was confident in a full recovery.

Newt hauled himself to his feet and beckoned for the Niffler to follow.

“Come on, I’ve got a nice burrow and some trinkets I think you might like.” The Niffler immediately perked up and scrambled after Newt.

Less than five minutes later found the Niffler lying contentedly in a pile of gold, his pouch stuffed full of jewellery and coins. After asking Dougal to keep an eye on their most recent addition, Newt made his way back to his little shack. Eyeing his potions consideringly, he’d have to make a new batch soon, he swallowed a dose of pain-relieving potion and another to repair nerve endings. As the effects of the potion kicked in, the tense line of his shoulders relaxed. His little bed called to him, but Newt shook his head. It was almost feeding time and he wouldn’t want his creatures to go hungry. After that was finished he would sleep.

 

 

5.

“Oh, hello there.”

When Newt had finally tracked down the thunderbird in Egypt, he hadn’t expected the traffickers to have a baby basilisk in a nearby cage. Peering at the creature more closely, Newt’s heart wrenched when he saw the empty sockets in its triangular head. “Oh, you poor thing.” He whispered as it twitched and hissed weakly. What he wouldn’t give to be a Parselmouth right now. 

At the sound of voices nearing, Frank screeched warningly and Newt quickly ducked behind some crates. Three men entered the tent with some equipment in their arms, causing Frank to rear back, his restraints chafing horribly against his joints. A quick scan told Newt all he needed to know and he felt bile rise in his throat. Thunderbird blood was extremely prized as having similar properties to phoenix tears and these traffickers now had a veritable well of it. 

Newt worried his bottom lip between his teeth before making a decision. Newt quickly stunned one of the men, and in that moment of distraction sent a _diffindo_ at Frank’s chains. One of the men sent a _bombarda_ at the crates Newt hid behind, forcing him to dive out of the way.

Unfortunately, his path of trajectory took him crashing right into the basilisk’s cage, where sharp fangs sunk into his hand. Immediately, Newt could feel the venom coursing through his bloodstream like acid. He groaned with pain and quickly deposited the basilisk into his case, before turning to see Frank take down the other two wizards.

It suddenly struck Newt how much noise they were making. More traffickers would definitely be on their way. Casting a quick ward at the entrance, Newt held his throbbing hand to his chest and staggered to kneel with his case in front of Frank.

“I’m just trying to help.” He said, fumbling with the latches and listening anxiously to the shouting outside. “Please could you just pop in here for a bit? It won’t be for too long. I’ll patch you up and then I’ll bring you back to Arizona. How does that sound?” The thunderbird fixed him with an imperious stare and Newt held his gaze unwaveringly until Frank leaped forward and dived into the case.

With his vision blurring at the edges, Newt teetered on his feet and gathered his case before disapparating and hoping to Merlin he didn’t splinch himself.

He stumbled into his room and all but fell into his case, agony arcing through his body as if someone had pumped liquefied _crucio_ into his veins. Gathering his healing supplies, he rushed out into the Arizona desert habitat he had prepared, oblivious to the worried stares of his creatures as he stumbled by.

Careening through the canvas flap, Newt was immediately assaulted by the hot desert sun. Woozily falling to his knees, his vision focused on the still form of the basilisk before him, half buried in sand. 

“Oh no, please no,” Newt scrambled forward to cup the lifeless body in his hands. The first sighting of a basilisk in centuries, and now it was dead after who knew how long in captivity. It couldn’t have been more than a year old considering that Newt was still alive after having been bitten. His eyes prickled with tears and he felt lightheaded, searing pain spreading through his body. 

Then, he felt something splash on his injured hand. Newt’s first thought was that Frank must have summoned some rain, but that didn’t quite make sense seeing as he still had to clench his eyes against the bright sun. And when had he fallen on his back? Slowly, he turned his head to see his hand splattered with blood. Eventually, things clicked. 

“Oh no, Frank, you didn’t.” Newt struggled to sit upright. “Look what you’ve done. You didn’t have to scratch yourself just to help heal me.” Frank cawed exasperatedly, and if he were human, he would have rolled his eyes. With Frank’s assistance, Newt managed to stand up, the pain quickly receding but being replaced by a burning sensation. The thing was, although thunderbird blood had similar properties to phoenix tears, the former had the unfortunate side effect of causing a fever by raising one’s temperature to literally burn through poison.

Newt wasn’t quite sure how, but when he next woke, he found himself in his bed in the corner of his workshop. Shakily, he went around to each enclosure, feeding and reassuring his worried creatures. Eventually he reached the desert habitat where Frank seemed to be waiting for him expectantly. Newt walked up to him and stroked his golden feathers.

“You know, I never did thank you for what you did.” He murmured with a fond smile. Frank nudged him with his beak and Newt laughed. “Alright, alright, but at least let me return the favour.” He gathered up his scattered supplies and carefully cleaned and healed each wound Frank had gotten during his time in captivity, as well as the new gash he had given himself.

“Some of these are going to scar quite dreadfully,” Newt mused as he finished up, carefully stroking a long gash across Frank’s beak. “But you’ll still look perfectly majestic.” He added at Frank’s indignant screech. With a few powerful strokes of his wings, the thunderbird took to the sky. Clouds rolled in and Newt laughed gleefully as the first drops of rain hit his upturned face. After a few minutes, Newt cast a drying charm and made his way out of his case.

He had a ticket to book.

 

 

+1

‘ _Wow_ ,’ was Newt’s first thought when he came to. When he had first been called to take care of a magical beast that was running rampant through New York, he hadn’t expected anything as magnificent as the large Re’em stalking through Central Park.

“Newt? Newt are you alright?” Tina’s anxious voice filtered through the sound of people shouting. 

“I’m al-” Newt broke off with a quiet hiss as he moved to sit up and pain shot up his left arm.

“Newt?” 

“I’m fine, Tina.” He called back, carefully prodding his shoulder. Hmm, definitely dislocated. He’d have to fix that later. 

“Fine?” Tina sounded incredulous. “It threw you through a wall!”

“Yes well, he’s quite disoriented being so far from home.” Newt explained, holding his arm carefully and dusting himself off. “He’s meant to be on the other side of the country, you know.” He clambered out of the hole he had made and hurried back towards the Re’em. It really was quite remarkable, and Newt couldn’t help but admire the way its glossy golden pelt reflected the sunlight, or the elegant curves of its horns, or- 

“Mr Scamander, any day now.” Mr Graves’ sharp voice startled Newt out of his reverie.

“Oh, y-yes, of course.” Newt stammered. “Apologies.”

“Just get that beast into that case of yours.” Graves ordered, concentrating on maintaining the wards that kept the No-majs away while directing his aurors to subdue the thrashing creature. “And quickly.”

Newt scurried as close as he dared to the Re’em before clearing his throat.

“ _Aaaaaaaaaooooooooooruuuuuuuu_ -”

“What in Iseult’s name is he doing?” Graves demanded, disbelief written across his face.

“ _Eeeeeeeaaaaaaaarrrghooooooooooooo_ -”

“He appears to be singing.” Tina piped up helpfully. When Graves turned his glare on her, she shrugged unconcernedly and turned an appreciative eye on their consultant magizoologist. “He really isn’t all that bad, and it’s working.” She gestured to the Re’em, which had stopped struggling and had cocked its head, listening intently to Newt’s smooth tenor.

“ _Iiiiiiiiiiiiiluuuuuuuooooooraaaaaaaa_ -”

Eventually the Re’em lowered itself to the ground and Newt managed to gently lead it into his case. He turned back to them grinning shyly, but Graves frowned as he noticed the stiff way Newt was holding his left arm.

“Well, I’ll just be off then.” Newt said as Graves and Tina walked up to him. “I’ve got to take this one home.” He gestured carelessly to his case, but Graves caught a brief flash of pain cross his face although it was quickly hidden.

“Not so fast, Mr Scamander.” He said, causing Newt to freeze mid turn, the skittish expression on his face strikingly similar to that of one of his creatures. “I’m sure the Re’em can wait a bit longer while we sort you out.”

“M-me?” 

“Yes, you. Why don’t you take a seat?” Graves said genially while conjuring a chair and placing a hand on Newt’s right shoulder to guide him to sit.

“I’m fine, really-” Newt protested, trying to stand up, but Graves’ hand on his shoulder was unyielding.

“I’m sure that shoulder must be hurting you, Mr Scamander.” Graves remarked, keeping his voice light but regarding Newt intently. The younger man squirmed in his seat, not once meeting his gaze.

Graves could never quite connect the painfully shy and awkward man in front of him to the man who had literally just sung to a raging Re’em. When Graves had woken from his magically induced coma, the first thing he had done was read the reports of what had happened when Grindelwald had stolen his body. He had read all about the trouble with the Obscurus boy, but what had really caught his attention was the magizoologist with his incredibly illegal case of creatures who had duelled Grindelwald and survived. It was, in fact, due to Scamander’s Niffler, of all things, that the snuffbox in which Graves had been hidden in was found so quickly, because evidently, even Dark Lords could be pickpocketed.

Graves had of course heard of Theseus Scamander the war hero, and in anticipation to Newt’s first consultation, he had imagined and expected someone like the tall confident man often seen in the newspapers. Instead he got a stammering man who avoided direct eye contact and hunched his shoulders to make himself look smaller than he actually was. Graves had had serious doubts about whether or not this man could really have uncovered Grindelwald’s plot. That was until he had seen him work with creatures. Newt was an enigma. In the face of one of his creatures, he exuded the calm confidence of someone who could interpret even the slightest change in body language, but around others of his own species, he would stumble his way through even the simplest social interactions.

With a flick of his wand Graves had numbed Newt’s shoulder and proceeded to gently examine it.

“You- you really don’t have to.” Newt interjected weakly. “I can do it myself.”

“And I don’t doubt that at all, Mr Scamander.” Graves replied, thinking about all the situations Newt seemed prone to getting into. “But I know from experience that relocating one’s own shoulder is an altogether unpleasant feeling.” And with one smooth motion, he pushed Newt’s shoulder back into place. 

Graves too had once been reluctant to accept help from others. He had distanced himself from everyone in order to focus on his work. Commanding respect and no small part apprehension, he ran his department with ruthless efficiency. All he cared about was competence. Anything else, like being liked, was extraneous. Being close to others just made him vulnerable. Ironically, it was this self-imposed isolation that had made him the perfect target for Grindelwald; high-ranking, but without any close family or friends who might notice any discrepancies in behaviour.

Upon his return to MACUSA, he had tried to make an effort to connect more with his colleagues, but the things Grindelwald had done with his face obviously remained fresh in their memories and they avoided any interaction that wasn’t strictly necessary. 

It was Tina Goldstein who had been the most receptive to his attempts. Her role in his rescue seemed to have left her with the idea that she could take more liberties with him. Having been reinstated to her former position, she had brought to the department her sense of zeal and natural instinct which made her an intuitive and proficient Auror.

The first time she had teased him, he had gaped at her for an embarrassingly long time before shutting his mouth and ordering her to get back to work. Instead of being discouraged, she had taken this as permission to continue and soon, most of the department included him in their regular banter. Now, when he walked through the department, his employees didn’t quite come up to him for a casual chat, but neither did they scuttle out of his way like they had previously. It was now quite commonplace for people to nod and greet him as he passed.

It was… different, Graves decided, but not altogether unpleasant.

He pulled Newt to his feet and banished the chair.

“Some things are better when you have other people.” Graves clapped a stunned Newt on his good shoulder and nodded to a gobsmacked Tina, before turning to organise the clean up. This was one thing he certainly wouldn’t want to do on his own.


End file.
